


The Burden of Eternity

by SherlockMalfoy



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 17:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: He presses close. I feel his lips against my skin as he seeks me out in his sleep. He will wake soon, and with his sleepy gaze the long worries of the night will fade. His lazy smile will chase away the demons for one more day and his scratchy voice will demand his morning coffee.In the twilight hours between night and day, Gabriel lays awake contemplating eternity.





	The Burden of Eternity

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same universe as my story, [Penance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12996933) and it's currently unpublished sequel, but takes place years and years afterward.
> 
> Also, sex is heavily implied by context but isn't explored in graphic detail as this mainly deals with thoughts and feelings I guess? Rated Mature just to be on the safe side.

    I lay back with my arm beneath my head, the other resting by my side. The bright world outside muted by the ugly green blinds. Stray rays of sunlight creeping in where the blind facing the dawn had been broken and bent.  
    I listened to his steady breathing beside me, staring up at the ceiling and tracing the crooked lines of patches and panels, accented by the occasional line of rivets. The world outside was just waking up. Just rousing from its slumber while I lay in quiet contemplation.  
    My body does not need sleep, but my mind rebels from time to time. Mental exhaustion is what forces me to close my eyes when my body wishes to push forward. I learned long ago the ravages sleep deprivation has on the mind, and it is a world I would rather leave far behind me.  
    He presses close. I feel his lips against my skin as he seeks me out in his sleep. He will wake soon, and with his sleepy gaze the long worries of the night will fade. His lazy smile will chase away the demons for one more day and his scratchy voice will demand his morning coffee.  
    I smile and I lift my head enough to remove my arm from beneath it. I pull away just enough to turn onto my side before scooting back in close. Whimpering protests in his sleep. I drape my arm atop the blankets across his hip. He pressed against my chest, arms tucked in and his face burrowing into my neck. he settles. A breath hot against my collarbone as he sighs in contentment.  
    I hold him to me, and let my eyes close, resting but not sleeping. I listen to his breathing. Rhythmic. Soothing. Each morning I memorize it. The sounds he makes. The feel of his skin pressed against mine. The mess of his hair against the pillows and the gentle fanning of his lashes against his cheek. A face marred only by a single scar bisecting it diagonally, partly my fault and partly his, and the natural defect of his soft lower lip.  
    Once, so many years ago but also not that far behind me, I loathed this man in my arms. After the many things I have done, the sins I have committed against the world and this man, I feared death. Dying alone had always been my greatest fear and now simply dying seems an impossible but much sought after dream. One day, perhaps, when the stars have all burnt their last and the light has finally faded from the sky. When the world ceased spinning and the universe chose whether to die in ice or flame, a great cooling expanse or a terrible flaming crunch - maybe then I may finally truly die. Or perhaps...  
    Now my only fear is facing such a lengthy time between my birth and eventual cosmic death alone. I had been given a taste of such a living death once before. The prospect of facing that again...  
    "You think too loud." A low rumble against my collarbone.  
    "Sorry. I forget you've gained telepathic touch."  
    Another smile against my skin. A dampness as they part and I feel the ticklish tip of his tongue. Teasing. Tasting.  
    I pull back just enough, just barely, so that I can see his sleepy face. He uncurls an arm and reaches down to my arm, pulling it back beneath the blankets so that I may press my hand against his naked flesh. His hand is back as it pushes me, guiding me to lay on my back once again so that he may cover my body with his. Each gentle touch chasing the spirits of my doubts and fears back into the night where they belong.  
    I can feel him, a steady thrum in the back of my thoughts. _Passion. Understanding. **Love.**_ The now familiar sensations of touch telepathy used not to push a thought, but to simply communicate. A simple act to reassure that this was real. That I was not alone. That I never would be again. I reciprocate in kind by taking hold of his hips and rolling us, pressing my body close and pinning him down as empathic touch flares, emboldened by the silent assurances.  
    I stare down into his face, memorizing each curve and angle, each mark and imperfection. The look in his eyes highlighting what I feel thrumming through his flesh with each place where we touch.  
  _Want. Desire. **Need.**_  
    I lower my face and claim his lips as fiercely as he had first claimed mine on that mid-March day so long ago.  
    Worries and fears, what ifs and might-have-beens, all belong to the night. And as I nibble that lower lip, soft and pliant between my hungry teeth, and as he slides his legs against mine so that I may settle between his strong, powerful thighs, these things are chased away by the light of his smile. The sounds of his whimpers and his moans. The strangled cries in the early morning light of dawn.  
    As the new day begins, he claws into my back and I bite hard into his shoulder to stifle the roar in my throat.  
    And in the afterglow, the room is a little brighter. My troubled, racing mind is quieter.  
    And for another day we hang onto the scrap of hope we've made between us. Forged in battle and blood and pain. Molded by fear and loss. Betrayal and hate. Things that somehow, somewhere along the way we turned into comfort. Into love and understanding. How and when, I cannot entirely say.  
    I feel his lips again. Feather light against my cheek before he worms his way out of my grasp. I watch him swing his legs off the side of the bed, as the muscles in his back ripple and shift beneath pale skin. As the finger shaped bruises on his hips begin to fade to red, then pink marks and then... to nothing. The gift of regeneration, given freely by the same one from which I forcefully took.  
    I reach out, and despite his body sitting just beyond the reach of my hand, just a little, he can still feel the pressure of a caress to his side before it circles around to his back. The delicious sound of him suppressing a moan reaches my ear, and he arches back into the invisible touch.  
    "Stop that," he says. "I've got work today. And so do you."  
    He turns to me, leans in and cups my cheek. I reach up and give him another caress, a real touch to mirror the one he gives me. I brush my thumb across his lower lip. And for another day, the burden of eternity in this brave new world feels a little bit lighter.


End file.
